


Let Me Put on a Show for You, Daddy

by lumbeam



Series: prompts/short stuff [4]
Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: AU, Crossdressing Kink, Daddy Kink, M/M, Roleplay, grade A filth, this is so gross
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 19:25:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5468165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumbeam/pseuds/lumbeam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Trevor is a rentboy and Michael is one of his clients. Daddy kink ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Put on a Show for You, Daddy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashamedbliss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashamedbliss/gifts).



> i have no excuse for this, enjoy my filth

Being a rent boy, Trevor deals with a lot of strange clients. Once this one bored housewife had him roleplay as her dead boyfriend. Another man asked him to be a dom and spit on him and burn cigarettes into his skin. One woman wanted him to pretend he was a dog. Another just paid him to be held. Trevor did all of these things to fuel his own desires and addictions, so it’s not like he scoffed at any of the requests. However, most of his regulars are pretty normal.

Probably the most milquetoast of all Trevor’s clients is a guy named Michael. He’s about twenty years older than Trevor, and a pretty big name producer at Richards Majestic in Vinewood. Judging from the pictures in his household, he’s married with two kids, although Trevor obviously never sees them when he’s there. All of this really adds up to one thing: a shitload of hush money. Michael is Trevor’s highest paying client, and he’s also the most boring. He always arranges for the same day of the week, at the same time. He fucks Trevor in the same positions, and he always throws Trevor five grand for his trouble. It’s the strangest case of a midlife crisis he’s ever seen. He started paying for Trevor’s services after going to a few other call girls in Los Santos. "I’ve never fucked a guy,” Michael said as a preface before arranging to have Trevor stop by a few days later. This has been going on for a few months now, although their sessions run together.

Trevor stops at his house at the usual time of 9:30 on a Friday. He doesn’t know how Michael gets his family out of the house, but the other de Santas are nowhere to be seen. Trevor gives three quick raps on the door, a special method Michael asked him to do, and he waits. It’s a bit windy tonight, so Trevor wraps his denim coat around himself a bit tighter.  Before he knows it, Michael is hurrying him in just in case anyone sees.

Michael is wearing an all black suit as if he’s going to a funeral. A glass of scotch is in his hand, the other around Trevor’s waist. He pushes Trevor into the kitchen. "Someone’s fuckin’ antsy tonight.” Trevor remarks.

Michael takes a swig of his scotch. "Yeah, you could say that. Want anything to drink?”

"I’ll take a beer if ya have it.” This is strange. Michael isn’t normally hospitable. Often times he takes Trevor straight to the guest bedroom (never his room due to the risk) and gets his satisfaction before going back to being repressed and miserable. Michael slides a beer to him across the island. Trevor opens the bottle and guzzles about half of it until he realizes Michael is staring at him. "The fuck’s your problem?” Trevor asks him as he sets down the bottle.

"How….good would you say you are at roleplaying?” he asks tentatively, topping off his glass.

Trevor smirks back. "Amigo, I'm the _best_. Nothing fuckin’ fazes me anymore.”

"Nothing?” he takes a swig. "Ya mean that?”

"Yup.” he polishes off his beer. "What do ya got in mind?”  
  
"It’s, ah, in the living room.” Michael chokes out, suddenly meek.

Trevor gives him a look before going into the living room. Laid out on the couch is a flowery jersey dress next to a long brunette wig. He laughs a little at this. Surprisingly, this is the first time he’s been asked to be a girl. "Oh, what, you want me to be a girl? This is pretty scandalous coming from you, Mikey.”

"Look under the dress.” is all Michael can get out. Trevor complies. There’s a pair of blue lace underwear under the dress. Trevor chuckles at this.

"Heh, okay, whatever gets you off.” Trevor shrugs off.

"Well--could you--” Michael starts to say before getting too embarrassed.

"Could I what? Just fuckin spit it out!” Trevor says, checking his watch. He has to be mindful of his time here because he has another client after midnight.

"Could you….call me daddy?” Michael brings the scotch to his face, almost as a coping mechanism.

“... _what_?”

Michael grimaces after swallowing a gulp of his drink. "You heard me.”

"I -- you -- ‘ _daddy_?’ The fuck, Michael? There are plenty of sad girls out there in Los Santos who’d jump at the opportunity for your Freudian fantasies." He looks back at the wig and the dress.

"Nah, nah, I don’t want to prey on girls that might actually have a complex. Well, that, and my wife said no other women.”

"Ahhhh,” Trevor says, the pieces all coming together. "Obeying her _exact_ words.”

Michael smirks a little beyond his drink. "So…you in?”

“...Wait here.” he snatches the dress and the wig and goes upstairs to change. "Should I shave too?” he calls out as he gets to the top.

"If you want.” Michael calls back.

"It’ll cost extra, Michael!” Trevor says back, although he doesn’t get a response.

As Trevor shaves his face with Michael’s razor, he looks out at the rest of the bathroom. It looks ransacked, as if it was raided. He shrugs at it, because it’s not Trevor’s business. He rinses off his face and strips down. He puts the lace panties, which don’t do much by way of coverage. Trevor tries hard not to imagine where exactly Michael got the underwear, or if they’ve been used before. Same with the wig and the dress. The dress has thick straps that cross in the back, showing off Trevor’s muscles. It’s short, just barely skimming his ass. He throws the sleek wig on along his hairline. He doesn’t look like a woman, far from it, but he figures that’s not what Michael is striving to go for with him. He searches through the cupboards and drawers and finds a tube of red lipstick. He applies it on his lips and dabs the edges with the stray towel. He doesn’t care enough to make it perfect, just as long as it does the job.

Trevor strides down the stairs, being careful to step quietly almost to surprise Michael. He keeps feeling the urge to tug his dress down, feeling almost a bit self-conscious.

Trevor strides to the living room, listening to Michael flipping channels to pass the time. Trevor walks in front of Michael’s view, feeling his body through the tight dress. "What do you think?”

Michael looks Trevor up and down, definitely past the point of ogling. "Where are you going in that?” he asks in an accusatory tone, assimilating into the role for the night.

Trevor sees what’s happening. "Out.”

"Really?” he asks, polishing off his drink. He stands up, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Yeah, I'm, ah, going out with friends.”

"What kinda friends?” He takes a step closer to Trevor. Trevor can smell the liquor on his breath.

"Just...friends from school.”

"Mmm,” Michael nods, looking down at his dress. "In something like that?”

"What’s wrong with it?” Trevor asks, smoothing out the flared skirt.

"It’s a little short...isn’t it?” Michael takes off his suit jacket and drops it onto the carpet.

"But _daddy_ \--” Trevor can see Michael bite his lip at that word. "This is the style.” Trevor tilts his head to the side, letting the wig fall in front of his eyes.

"I don’t fuckin’ care what the style is, _sweetheart_.” Michael pulls him closer against him. Trevor can feel his erection pressing against his bare thigh. "I don’t want my girl to look like a _slut_.”

Trevor gets close to Michael’s face, practically tasting the remaining scotch on his lips. "But what if I am a slut?”

"What’s that?” His hands snake down to Trevor’s lower back.

"Maybe I _am_ a slut, daddy.” Trevor says in a higher tone.

"Oh really? You wanna be a slut? Then I’ll treat you like a _slut_ \--” His hands run over Trevor’s cock, which is already hard. Michael pulls up his dress and his hands go back to Trevor’s ass, dragging his nails across his cheeks. "Ya like that, _princess_?” He moans out against Trevor’s lips before settling into a deep kiss.

The kiss is so intense that it smudges the lipstick against Michael’s face. Michael pulls down Trevor’s straps and starts biting his shoulders. "Mmm, yes daddy.” Trevor moans and tilts his head back, wrapping his arms around Michael’s neck. Michael grinds against Trevor’s hips, smacking his ass.

"You wanna suck daddy’s cock, you little _slut_?” his hands go to his belt, unbuckling it and dropping his pants. Trevor drops to his knees in front of him.

"Please,” Trevor moans, his hands going to Michael’s boxer briefs. He frees his cock and Trevor immediately puts it in his mouth. He sinks all the way down to the base. Michael moans out, putting his hands on top of Trevor’s wig. Being in Trevor’s line of work, he learned pretty quickly how to give good head. Michael is always a big proponent of head, although Trevor knows that it’s a one way street. It doesn’t really bother him, because there’s always some other client that is more than willing to have their mouths on him.

Trevor lifts up his dress, reaching for his cock as he sucks Michael off. "Ah, ah, no.” he pulls Trevor’s head back, making him look up at him. "Not yet.”

Trevor pouts a little, his lips emphasized by the smudged lipstick. "Why not?”

"You barely sucked my cock, and you’re expecting to be rewarded by you being able to touch yourself?”

Trevor begins to suck Michael’s cock again, this time with more fervor. Michael starts to slightly thrust into his mouth, his groans getting louder. " _Ahhh_ , that’s more like it.” Trevor takes all of him and holds it there for as long as he can manage, which is a technique he first learned when he started turning tricks years ago. Michael gasps at this, and his hips stop.

He pulls himself out of Trevor’s mouth and he pulls him up off the ground. "You want me to fuck you, baby?”

"Yes, daddy.” he says, pulling the straps down completely and letting the dress hit the floor and join Michael’s suit coat. Michael’s hands feel hot against his torso, and Michael nips and bites at his chest and shoulders.

"Get on the fucking couch, then.” He commands, and Trevor complies. He strips himself of his underwear and goes over to the couch. Trevor rests his forearms on the back of the couch, completely exposed. Michael reaches in his shirt pocket and pulls out a condom. He tears the wrapper with his teeth and rolls the condom onto his length. Looking over at Trevor, he slicks up two fingers with saliva. It’s more of a formality than anything, as Trevor normally "Prepares” himself if he knows he’s getting fucked. Usually it involves him having to lube himself up in a gas station bathroom near the client’s house.

"You ready for me?” Michael asks as he slowly fits a finger inside him. Trevor groans out, pressing further into the couch.

"Ah! Ah! More! Please daddy,” he whines, writhing on the couch.

"More?” He asks, putting another finger inside him. "How ‘bout that?” he asks, his fingers curling against his prostate. "Ya like the way daddy fingerfucks you?”

"Yes!” Trevor pushes himself back on Michael’s fingers, wanting more. Michael seems to realize this, and he kneels on the couch and presses his cock right against Trevor’s hole.

Michael pushes into him, gripping Trevor’s flanks. They both moan out, settling into a rhythm. Michael tries to pull Trevor’s hair, completely forgetting the wig is just sitting atop his head. He pulls the wig off, and in his lust-addled brain he tosses it over his shoulder.

Michael is thrusting into Trevor, his hips smacking against his ass. He gets near Trevor’s neck, planting sloppy kisses. "Ah! Ah! _Daddy_ ~!” Trevor moans against Michael’s ear. Michael starts to pick up the pace at Trevor staying in character. Trevor was right; he is good at roleplaying.

"I like to see my girl being treated like a slut--” he moans to Trevor as he drags his nails along his sides.

"Well I like being a _slut_ ~” Trevor says, twisting around slightly and pulling Michael into a kiss. Trevor pushes back against him.

"Yeah baby, push back on my cock.” Michael moans out, stopping his hips to let Trevor do some of the work. His hands sneak around to Trevor’s front, putting his hands on his dick to relieve at least some tension. Trevor responds to his touch, pushing back on him more fervently.

"You wanna just get yourself off on me? How ‘bout you just ride my cock?” Michael has never lived out this fantasy. Sure, he’s lived out power fantasies pretty much every time he’s had sex, but never like this. He suggested this idea to his wife Amanda, but she scoffed at it before telling him what a pig he is. He pushes those thoughts away and pulls out of Trevor, sitting down on the couch before Trevor sinks himself back down on him.

Trevor groans out atop Michael, gyrating his hips against him. Michael’s greedy hands roam all over Trevor’s body before settling on his ass. "Daddy,” he moans.

"Ya want to cum for me, huh?” Michael asks, grabbing his cock and lazily stroking him. Trevor starts to buck up into his fist, but Michael pulls his hand away. "Ah, ah, not till I cum first.”

"You fuckin’--” Trevor starts to grit out before slipping back into his role. "You want me to make you cum, daddy? I’ll make you fuckin _cum_.” Trevor grinds down on Michael, practically bouncing on his cock. Trevor grabs the back of Michael’s neck, pushing him into a kiss. Michael groans out against his lips. He can tell he’s getting close, so Trevor works his hips more than he’s worked since Michael hired him.

" _Cum for me_!” Trevor practically yells, desperate to also finish. Michael tilts his head back, groaning and digging his nails into Trevor’s hipbones.

"Augh, fuck, fuck _fuck_!” Michael moans out, trying to still Trevor’s hips. "All right, Trevor, stop!”

"Not until you finish me off,” Trevor swivels his hips, " _Daddy_.”

"All right, all _fuckin_ ’ right!” he grabs Trevor’s cock, jerking him off roughly. Trevor finishes only a few strokes into it, spilling cum onto Michael’s chest and stomach. He groans loudly as he comes down, enough for it to echo through the empty house.

After a moment, Michael takes his hand off of Trevor’s limp cock. "There, you happy? Now get off of me!” he exclaims, wiping his hand on the couch. Trevor makes a face and gets off of Michael’s lap. Without ceremony or embarrassment, he walks out of the living room and goes upstairs to change. As he puts on his clothes in the bathroom, he looks at the smudged lipstick on his face. Grimacing, he rubs the remaining makeup onto the towel.

Striding back down the stairs, Trevor can hear Michael still in the living room. Instead of going completely into the room, he rests his shoulder on the doorjamb. Michael’s still just in his boxers, although he’s haphazardly buttoning his dress shirt. "Hey, uh,” Trevor starts, checking his watch. _11:30_. "As much as I’d _love_ to stay and add fuel to your self-loathing, I hafta go.”

"Yeah, yeah, I know.” he says, almost with a hint of sadness. Giving up buttoning up his shirt correctly, he goes to his discarded suit coat and pulls out his checkbook. He fills out the checkbook in an almost frantic scrawl and he hands Trevor the check. Trevor takes it, not moving from the hallway or really paying attention to Michael.

He glances down at the check and coughs at the number. "Fifteen thousand, okay.” he says.

"Yeah.” Michael says, a bit embarrassed. Trevor just nods at him.

"We done here?” Trevor asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I guess.” Michael sighs out. Trevor slips on his coat slowly, expecting Michael to stop him.

"Alright, see you next week,” he says as he pockets the check. Michael doesn’t say anything as he strides out to the kitchen to pour himself another glass of scotch. Trevor leaves and goes out to his truck to go to his next client.


End file.
